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The work of the Christian missionary has always had a fascination for me that all other callings have lacked; and, consequently, it was a rare privilege to sit at the feet of the saintly Bishop William Taylor and hear him tell of the tribes which live where "Afric's sunny fountains pour down their golden sand," as Bishop Heber has said in his great missionary hymn. The good bishop Taylor bore the heat of the day until his locks were snowy and his strength ebbing fast. On one occasion when he was starting for Africa he said to me, the days when we more frequently met. Hubert P. Main I have known since 1860, and he has always been of valuable service to me in criticising my work, for which his knowledge of hymns, both ancient and modern, has well fitted him. His musical library has been the scene of many pleasant talks concerning the writing of hymns and their accompanying melodies. For many years he has been the accomplished compiler for the Biglow and Main Company, and he has set to music some of my best hymns, including such favorites as "The Bright Forever," "Hold Thou my Hand," "Blessed Homeland," "The Blessed Rock," "Yes, There's Pardon For You," and many others.

Previous to 1870 the Biglow and Main hymns were widely known in several foreign countries, especially in England. Our publishing house was the rendezvous of a company of musical men, who were in the habit of meeting together after the publication of a new book, for the purpose of singing it through from cover to cover. Among these musical friends may be mentioned Hubert P. Main, William F. Sherwin, Theodore F. Seward, Henry Tucker, Chester G. Alien, Philip Phillips and Theodore E. Perkins, but of this merry group Mr. Main and Mr. Perkins are all that now survive.

From 1872 until the time of her death, seven years later, Frances Ridley Havergal and I corresponded at frequent intervals, and she wrote me a poem of tribute, an extract from which will be found later in this book, together with an account of the incident that led her to thus remember me.

"Fanny, if you were thirty years younger would you go with me to Africa?"

"Yes indeed, I would," I answered, "and help you plant missions." I saw him again a few weeks before. his last missionary journey and he said,

"Well, Fanny, I am going once more."

"Many times yet," said I, "if it be our Father's will." Laying his hand upon my head he gave me his blessing; and as he stood there a vision of the multitudes to whom his ministry had been a benediction came before my eyes with a strange power and pathos. My prayer is: May the hour come when we will no longer say of the foreign field, "Lo, the harvest is ripe, but where are the reapers?"

The unique illustrations given by Dr. Talmage always interested me, one of them in particular. In a Christmas sermon he told the story of a little Swiss girl who was dying; and from her window she could look out to the lofty summit of the mountains amid which she had been reared.

"Papa, carry me to the tip of the mountain," she exclaimed. But he replied,

" My child, I cannot carry you, but the angels will." For a time she was silent and lay with her eyes closed. At length she opened them and looking out of the window exclaimed in her joy,

"They are carrying me, father. I shall soon be it the top."

With those words Dr. Talmage concluded his sermon, It seemed to his hearers that he had conducted them to a high pinnacle in a lofty range of mountains where they might breath a pure atmosphere. When I reminded him of the beautiful effect that his words had upon us, he said,

"Ah, you are right. I never intended to bring you down from that summit."

And thus it is with even the humblest fellow-ministers of song; they take us to heights of which the soul often dreams, yet rarely attains, in fact to those mansions of the blest where there are always light and warmth and love; where the thirst of weary pilgrims is quenched by draughts of mountain springs; and where this mortal spirit puts on its immortality.

"Sing on, ye joyful pilgrims,
The way will not be long,
My faith is heavenward rising
With every tuneful song."

CHAPTER XVIII
WORK AMONG MISSIONS

MY connection with the Bowery Mission dates from 1881. Mr. Childs, then its superintendent, I first knew as a dis-couraged man out of work, but always found him a true Christian gentleman. He had been compelled to give up an excellent position in Massachusetts because of failing eyesight; and consequently had come to New York to find something to do. We first met on a street car; and I asked him if he was familiar with the Bowery Mission. He said that he was, and the next evening we went down there to-gether, and I introduced him to the Rev. Mr. Rulifson, the superintendent, with the result that he was at once engaged as assistant in the work of rescuing lost men.

I frequently attended the evening meetings at the mission; and one evening they asked me to speak, as indeed they often did. During my remarks I said,